


A Moment of Sorrow and Joy

by CatAlex



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatAlex/pseuds/CatAlex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After coming out of the Deep Roads, Hawke doesn't know what to do and how to feel in the aftermath. F.Hawke/Fenris</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Sorrow and Joy

**Author's Note:**

> One moment of many. Dragon Age 2 hasn’t half torn me up inside. The futility and powerlessness I have experienced playing is truly staggering. But mixed within are those tantalising moments of joy. Spoilers from this point forward. In my first play through, I foolishly took Bethany with me and she died of the Taint. This is something that came from that experience.

Hawke and the party separated once out of the Deep Roads; Fenris with an awkward condolence before disappearing into the night; Varric cursing his brother over and over. Hawke was silent, stone-faced, her eyes downturned. She left Varric at the Hanged Man, ignoring his meaningful stare at Isabela, who had gone to greet them and stopped as Varric hurried over. She left to stand outside her mother’s childhood home. Bethany had talked many times about getting the place back for Mother. Hawke’s throat tightened. Kirkwall was teeming with life and all she wanted was to be left alone. 

Carver and Bethany, her two little siblings. Hawke felt her legs moving, but had no understanding of where they went. 

She remembered Carver, barely seven years old, waving a dagger around – a sword in his child hands – proclaiming he was a knight for the king. Hawke had airily replied that she must be a knight-commander then and he had to do what she said. He had glared at her, but with his chipped baby tooth he looked comical and she’d laughed and relented, allowing him to direct her for a while; the lowly officer to his knight. He had always wanted to compete to be better than her, when she didn’t care what stations they had in life. 

Bethany had been the peacemaker, the level headed once. Nine years old, hair in pigtails, earnestly asking Hawke that if she ever went bad, that she be the one to put a stop to it. 

_“I’d be scared if anyone else did it,”_ she had confessed. Hawke had found it somewhat amusing at the time, but now those words ached in her heart. She had sworn back then to protect her, so that she’d never get in trouble. Bethany had thanked her with a beaming smile and skipped off back to Father, who had shrugged and shook his head with a slow, uncertain smile at Hawke. Hawke had considered herself a protector, but on reflection she was something of a templar for Bethany; a loving, friendly Templar, but a Templar nonetheless. 

These memories were haunting her. She wasn’t able to protect either of them and it ate her up inside. Hawke looked up. She was at Fenris’ wreck of a mansion. It would do. She quietly pushed the door open, ignored Fenris’ room and shut herself in one of the empty rooms far away from anyone. 

Once the door was shut, finally closed off from everyone else, tears began to well. Hawke had always considered herself the tough member of the Hawke siblings, but she knew it was partly a façade. She wanted to silently cry, like a tough guy, but she had to listen to her own high desolate weeping. She was out of control, sobs wracking her. She took her armour off, sat in a corner, pulled her legs to her chest and pressed her head to her knees. Her face felt stiff with heartache. She didn’t know what to do. Her mind kept turning over their deaths without end. She was trapped in those memories. 

Hawke didn’t hear when the door opened and bare feet uncertainly padded over to her.

* * *

He stood there for some time, scared stiff over what to do. He wasn’t in the habit of dealing with grieving women, nor did he care to. But this was Hawke and he respected Hawke. Seeing her in such a state shook him up. The realisation that she wasn’t just a tough warrior unsettled him. Black and white was comforting and he had all sorts of grey in front of him. 

Eventually though he realised he couldn’t stand there – he had to either leave, permanently branding himself a coward or the far more upsetting and distasteful option of attempting to comfort her. At the moment either she hadn’t noticed his presence or didn’t care. So he could just walk away and perhaps she’d never know. 

_‘Coward.’_

Touching people… he couldn’t stand it. It was pain waiting to happen. What if she clung to him? He’d have to push her away. His skin crawled with the thought of someone hanging on to him. He carefully sat beside her. She still cried. 

_‘You could probably still get away,’_ a little voice taunted. He reluctantly brushed it aside. 

Nervously, he reached out to touch Hawke’s shoulder. He felt sick when he noticed his bare hand was trembling. He should have come armed to the teeth. 

Slowly it descended on her shoulder. Her shoulder stiffened and Fenris froze. He’d made a mistake, hadn’t he? Perhaps he should say something? 

_‘Just like when you last saw her – good job.’_  

He hated himself. Cold and hard – that was just how he was. Opening up to others was just asking to get hurt. But she’d come here – not to him, admittedly (something that internally stung a little), but she did come here, where he was. If she was willing to do that, he could open up a little.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, forcing himself to gently tighten his grip. 

Hawke hiccoughed and lifted her head to reveal a red face, making her blue eyes even starker. 

“They’re gone and there’s nothing I can do,” she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut, “I wish I could have taken their places.” 

The loss of siblings… he couldn’t understand. All his losses were purely selfish – his life, his freedom. Putting himself in the way to preserve another’s safety was a foreign concept he was only starting to understand from being with the team. Being with them made him realised how broken he really was. Even with freedom, a dark part of him whispered, he’d never be whole. Missing memories, a tormented and hate filled heart, the desire for vengeance… he was incapable of ever being a normal, decent man. And the knowledge that others were responsible only further fuelled those traits. It was an unending cycle of hatred he couldn’t break. 

Fenris blinked. He guessed Varric wasn’t so far off the mark about his brooding. He hadn’t replied to Hawke, though it didn’t seem like she’d been expecting an answer. 

_‘Change can come from within, but outside influences are useful,’_ he thought. He wasn’t strong enough to rid himself of this hatred inside of him alone. It rankled that he had to acknowledge how mentally weak he was. But Hawke was helping and for that he was grateful. It was only right he should try to repay it in kind. 

So he carefully moved his hand to rest on her other shoulder, her head shifting to rest in the crook of his neck. His jaw tensed up, tendons in his neck sticking out. He was glued to the spot in fear. Why was he so afraid? He tired to focus on what he was actually feeling, rather than simply anticipating pain. 

Her head was a little heavy, but soft and warm on his shoulder. A bit damp too, from tears. Her breath tickled his neck, making him nervous. His legs were laid out flat so they made no contact with her bunched up legs. His right hand was pressed to the cold stone floor which made him feel a little better. 

He realised Hawke seemed to understand his discomfit, because she didn’t make any move to get closer to him. He supposed last time she saw someone touch him he’d put his hand through their chest. It annoyed him that she was handling him like glass; that he would crack under the slightest touch. It annoyed him more that she was right. So he remained in place, starting to get more comfortable. 

* * *

 

By dawn, Hawke awoke to find Fenris’ head resting on top of hers, the hand on her shoulder slack. She’d been surprised he’d attempted to comfort her. Perhaps he wasn’t a lost cause after all. She gently extricated herself from him, stood and stretched. She felt slightly better. The ache in her chest had dulled a little; enough so she could control herself. 

She quietly put her armour back on. Fenris hadn’t stirred. He actually looked somewhat peaceful and sweet in repose. What would she do with him? 

Hawke knelt down by a dusty part of the floor, scrawled a message with a finger and left. She had a house to buy. 

* * *

 

Fenris awoke. In front of him, in atrocious handwriting, said, _‘Thank you. X’._

It was simple, but it shook Fenris to his core. He sat there and stared at it for a long time, wondering if he could become a better man. 

THE END 

(And the comedy ending, as I learnt later that it’s suggested Fenris can’t read and Hawke is teaching him.) 

Fenris awoke. In front of him was something written on the floor and suddenly he felt nervous and silly. He hadn’t told Hawke he couldn’t read. The message looked short, but he couldn’t judge its importance. He stood and started unconsciously pacing while he thought of how to ask what message she’d left. 

THE END (FOR REALS ^_^)


End file.
